


Dreams of Iron and Gold

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Sibling Incest, steam punk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: In a world in which the Great Journey never happened, the Noldor live in war against the Dark God.* I just wanted to write a half punk AU with Fëanor / Fingolfin (one of many that goes around in my head)





	1. Chapter 1

I can’t stay in bed. These days, season begins to change and mornings are colder. Normally cold is nothing to me; but this year the change comes while he is away.

As expected, I’ve tried to find a suitable company during his absence; but nobody manages to fill the space that he leaves in my bed - _our bed_ \- every time he goes out on one of his trips. A few decades ago, it would have been me who was on the other side of the mountains; however, in recent years my presence here has become almost indispensable to keep the work flowing. It's fine: I was born with the genius and strength of the creator; he was born with the skill and energy of a protector. We are two halves of one.

But understanding his obligations as leader of the warriors doesn’t change the reality that my bed is too cold this morning.

It's not long until the day begins and I only cross a patrol while I'm heading to the forge. It's the only thing I can do to not think. To work.

The same day he left, I started designing a new gauntlet for his left arm. Now it's almost finished and I want to have it ready for his begeting day. He’ll like it As he likes everything that makes him more effective in his tasks. How he likes everything I do for him. Since ever.

The design is a bit more complex than the previous ones that I’ve made for him. The mechanism will allow that by simply flexing the fingers a fan of steel that acts as a shield will be deployed; another flexion of the fingers -and the fan closes to become a blade. So far I have made crossbows, claws, daggers, hooks ... a wide variety of objects with which to supply the skill of his left hand.

There was a time when the only thing I designed to cover his skin was jewelry.

We were so young then. Ingenuous no. Those of us born under the Veil have never been naive or innocent; but we were young. I still remember that we were 'Pure' the first time we joined.

My jewelry was the only metal that had touched his body when he came to me in the forge. It was not this forge, of course: that - like the fortress in which we were both born hundreds of years ago - was destroyed when the Siege fell and we had to retreat.

I remember that night as if it had happened yesterday. The Feast of Flowers had gathered all our people in the plaza; but I was working. It was only a few days since my firstborn was born and I did not feel like having another child so soon. I felt him even before he went through the door.

He was barely out of adolescence and when I turned to look at him, I knew he had crossed the town only covering his body with the mantle of his hair loose. I also knew that no one had looked at him: they would not have dared; everyone already knew that he belonged to me even though I hadn’t claimed him yet. Our mothers knew it, coming to reject the hand of the half-spirit princess for him. Father knew it since he was a boy and I was a teenager stumbling on my own feet.

Every time I look at the forge, I remember his white body, immaculate, spread out before me like an offering, his thighs open, his hair spilled like a cloak ... and his blue eyes flooded with stars fixed on me. I savored every inch of his skin. I bit and marked. I licked and drank from him. How many times after that night has he ridden on my hips, arching backward, screaming my name when ecstasy breaks his body? How many times after that night have I twisted under his weight, begging for more of him inside me?

I realize that the fire is almost extinct and that I have lost more than an hour in the memories of our first time. It's ridiculous how much I miss him. We are not exactly the most harmonious of the couples and, although we have managed to balance our points of view when directing our people, there was a moment when we were at each other's throats.

It was after Father’s death. With our mothers retiring to the Temple to share the widowhood as they shared the marriage, my brothers and I stayed at the head of the Noldor. I wanted revenge, I wanted to charge against the Iron Fortress and plunge my sword into the heart of the Dark God. He, as always, was more equanimous. I didn’t listen to him. We cross words that still weigh among us today. The consequence of my recklessness was that for almost three decades I remained between this world and that of the dead, my body almost destroyed by the demons of fire and shadow. He guided our people and brought me back. It was he who suggested that I fix my body with the metal that I knew so well. But for four hundred years we remained distant. Until his children brought his shattered body after he faced the Dark God in duel in person.

I don’t want to know to what degree of desperation he had come to challenge our enemy in a fight that he couldn’t win. From that day, he also stopped being 'Pure'.

With a sigh, I turn off the forge and return to my rooms. Today I won’t finish the gauntlet. I want to have him here, to verify that he is alive, that he is with me; feel the beat of his heart under my hands and twist my fingers in his hair. It's too cold this morning.


	2. Chapter 2

At last, in the middle of the afternoon, the sentinels have announced his return. I didn’t run to meet him in the courtyard because there’s no need to confirm to subjects and friends that I am such a soulful asshole. However, when he dismounted, I watched him from my window, drinking with my eyes the curve of his chin, the laughter with which he received a joke from Maedhros, the order that he barked at his youngest son when the boy got between my twins, the pat on the backside with which he greeted our younger sister ... I check that there are no wounds and that no implant has failed during the trip because of the ease with which he moves. Finally, he looks up and his eyes meet me, and a smile curves his soft mouth, sowing my stomach with anxiety.

When the door opens, I have the tools ready. Without a word, he undresses in front of me.

It's still the best show in the world. In fact, implants have done it better every time.

The steel line that supports his column is similar to the exquisite dorsal fin of a dragon, each piece created in a way that allows the rigidity and undulations of a warrior's body. The arachnid arms embrace his hard torso and outline the firm gluteus. A prosthesis replaces his right leg to the knee and the gauntlet with the retractable sword that I gave him this spring covers his left arm. Each piece is the fruit of whole days of work and despair; days when I cried over the plans thinking that I wouldn’t be able to save him; days when I cursed the metal that held my legs, but maybe could not replace his broken limbs.

“Admiring your work?” He says raising an eyebrow as he wiggles like a cat in front of me.

“Stop being an idiot and let me take a look”, I growled at him, indicating the bed with a gesture.

He sticks his tongue out at me, showing me the golden sphere that adorns it in the center and slides to the bed. He sits on the edge with his legs apart and waits for me to kneel before him.

“I had a dream”, he comments carelessly while I separate the pieces of his steel leg to take a look at the internal mechanism.  
“Mhn?”  
“I dreamed that we lived in a different world.”  
“Different?” I repeat and use some mineral grease before readjusting the gears.  
“With more light. On the other side of the sea. A _blessed_ land.”

I secure the last screw and sit up to tell him to lie on his stomach.

“What do you mean by _blessed_?” I ask for playing along when I kneel beside him to examine each artificial vertebra separately.  
“Governed by the gods.”  
“Damn you mean then”, I mock.  
“They were different gods. More ... candid. They believed that Morgoth could redeem himself and do good.”

The stiletto slips and sinks into his flesh. He doesn’t react and a shudder of rage runs through me: with the vertebrae disconnected, he is totally insensitive to my touch.

“They were mutton-headed gods”, I mock bitterly and start to reconnect the screws.

We keep silence while I finish. When he regains mobility, he rolls on one side and lies on the mattress, looking at me through his long eyelashes.

“It was different there.”  
“Different? For the gods? Or for light?”  
“You and me. It was different there. As if not ... as if we had never loved each other”, he ends in a whisper.

I frown, trying to imagine such a world, a world in which the distance of those four hundred years that I hate to remember was the reality between us. My chest tightens with the mere idea and terror crawls from my stomach like a frozen snake.

The brush of his hand on my cheek brings me back to the present, to our reality. Impulsively, I cover his hand with mine and we intertwine our fingers, fixing my eyes on his. I turn my face and kiss his palm. He doesn’t look away from me when I stick out my tongue and run his fingers with slow licks, one by one. I take his thumb between my teeth and suck slowly again and again.

Fingolfin opens his lips and pant quietly, not losing sight of how my tongue wraps around his finger. After a moment, I slide my tongue up to his wrist and plant a kiss trail on the inside of his forearm. I change of position, kneeling between his legs to be able to cross his chest with kisses and bites. His belly contracts when I go down to the triangle drawn by his pelvis.

His cock brushes my skin. It is erect and demands my attention with slight contractions that lean towards me. I avoid it as much as I can while I suck marks on the inside of his thighs and lick the balls hard of excitement.

“Fëanor ...” he growls over me and I smile before tilting my face to kiss the base of the hard shaft.

I slowly lick the length of his erection. I linger under the tip, licking the small hole that immediately moistens. His taste is glorious: after so many years, it is still my favorite flavor. I devour it slowly, moaning around his cock with every inch I advance.

His hands get tangled in my hair as he propels himself up my throat. I have done this thousands of times; but every time is better. Fingolfin writhes, moans, curses ... and fucks my mouth with a desperation that betrays me that I am special. _And it drives me crazy._

His explosion fills my mouth and I struggle to swallow every last drop. When I let go of the soft cock, I make sure to lick everything before moving lower, between the tense buttocks.

Fingolfin half protests between his teeth; but he does nothing to get away when I explore his entrance. I rejoice in the palpitations that receive me and I push with my tongue, making pressure. Finally, I pass the ring of muscles. 

“Disgusting”, he declares hoarsely and clings to the sheets to rise on his heels and give me better access.

I keep licking and when he flutters against me, I use a finger to penetrate him.

Nothing has changed. Fingolfin moans like that night in the forge, shudders ... but does not run away. He accept with tremors of anticipation the play of my fingers in his channel until the muscles relax. Only then do I walk away to get undressed.

I stumble over the oil on the night table. While I prepare myself, running my cock with hasty and clumsy movements, Fingolfin caresses his own erection, playing with the testicles, but without touching his entrance, reserving it for me. I know that I am the only one who has put his dick in there: we have had lovers, we have fathered children... but only I have possessed him, only he has possessed me.

I stand between his thighs and push inside, slowly, wallowing in the warmth that welcomes me. It costs me my life not to put it all at once and fuck him until he is unconscious; but I want it to last, I want to recover every night that my bed was too cold without him.

“A-ah yes ...” he moans almost painfully and my sex swells more inside. His voice does that with me from the first time.

He doesn’t touch me. Like every time after a separation, he clings with both hands to the nearest object to avoid touching me. It’s fascinating and hateful. At the same time, he’s exposed to me and he’s evading me. I know by heart that if I searched for his soul now, I would crash into a wall of ice.

I do the only thing I can do: I fuck him hard, fast, deep. My brother moans at full voice, arches looking for more ... and I stop.

I nail my fingers in his side, feeling the tremors that run through him. My heart beats so fast that I think it will blow out the gold plates that line my chest. For a few minutes I don’t move, enjoying the pulsations of his entrails around me. Fingolfin releases a long sigh and relaxes in a visible way. Only then do I start to move.

Slowly. I hold his left leg against his chest, so I can see the slow path of my cock going in and out of his body. The oil and the pre-cum leave a satiny shine on my skin. I know how to make him writhe with anxiety even this way.

“Fuck!” he roars arching the neck back, exposing the silver necklace that joins the artificial vertebrae.

I hit the same point one more time. And another. And another.

Fingolfin gasps erratically. His blue eyes are spirals of silver and madness when he seeks my gaze. His half-open mouth modulates raspy moans among which I distinguish my name and bits of our secret language, which only the oldest of the Noldor share. His cock swings against his abdomen, leaving pearls of sperm in each touch. He's so close! I can smell his pleasure, his desperation ... and I'm losing the battle for control. Fingolfin shouts my name and comes generously. The barriers of his mind fall and I rush like a hungry beast. I live for these seconds, for these seconds when my brother bares completely before me.

I devour his soul with the fire unleashed from mine. Fingolfin is pure starlight in the center of deep darkness. I move with his soul, melting and biting, catching what I can reach before the orgasm explodes inside and outside of me.

 

When I open my eyes, the smell of musk and rain floods the room. I rest a cheek on my partner's wet chest and the rhythmic beat of his heart lulls me. I slide my fingers along the sharp edges of one of the spider arms.

“You're alive”, he purrs mockingly.

I sit up to observe his face. I raise my hand to brush his lower lip and he opens his mouth to lick my fingers. I move to be at his height and kiss him slowly. Fingolfin responds by tilting his head, parting his lips and advancing his tongue to entangle it with mine.

Finally we pulled away, breathing raggedly. We keep silent while we touch each other as much as we can without succumbing to passion.

“Do you think there's something else out there?”

I throw my head back to contemplate him.

“Something else?”  
“A land that isn’t under the Veil. Where the Dark God has no power. Other gods that don’t hate us.”  
“A land where you and I were not lovers?” I raise an eyebrow.

Fingolfin makes a pout and I perceive the malice in his blue silver eyes.

“There is no such world, Fëanor”, he responds while pulling me.  
We kiss each other with despair. With a fluid movement, Fingolfin stretches me on my back and sits between my legs, pressing his hips so that our cocks rub against each other.

“What would we do?” I pant clinging to his hair, his shoulders, his back. “In that _blessed_ land, with candid gods and so much light... what would you and I do?”  
“What we have always done”, he says and with one thrust, his cock strikes me, fills me.

For a second, I don’t breathe. I squeeze my eyelids as I hiss between my teeth. I move to feel him more, never having enough of him inside me.

“Fuck?” I murmured at last with effort.  
“Change the world”, he replies before kissing me and I lose myself in the rhythm of his brutal assaults.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanons that I have for this 'verse. 
> 
> 1- Oromë never found the Elves, so there was no Great Journey.
> 
> 2- Míriel is alive. She and Indis are the wives of Finwë. They are also a couple.
> 
>  
> 
> 3- Finwë is dead (Sorry)
> 
> 4- Fëanor still has his seven children; but not with the same mother. In fact, only Maedhros and the twins are from Nerdanel.
> 
>  
> 
> 5- Fingolfin also has all his children, including Argon, who is a teenager here. They are not from the same mother either.
> 
> 6- Findis and Lalwen also exist here and they are a couple.
> 
>  
> 
> 7- Fëanor and Fingolfin are partners in an official way and they govern the Noldor together. And yes, Fëanor claimed Fingolfin immediately after he reached the age of majority.
> 
> 8- Morgoth was never apprehended by the Valar and he reigns in Middle Earth.


End file.
